I Mantled Nerevar and All I Got Was This Ring
by cardiacorigami
Summary: A power-hungry Khajiiti murderer with roots in the Renrijra Krin and a disregard for everything Imperial finds herself shuttled off to Morrowind to impersonate the reincarnation of Indoril Nerevar. Needless to say, things don't go the way the Emperor planned, as Abhidasha is too preoccupied with clawing her way to the top of the pecking order to fulfill some crazy prophecy.


_Author's note: I've got a fanfic set in Skyrim, one set in Cyrodiil (though it's set around the same time as Skyrim), and I love Morrowind, so I couldn't resist. Contains or will contain intoxicated antics (mostly on Caius Cosades' part), fantasy racism, murder, and lots of language you probably wouldn't want to repeat in front of your grandmother. This particular Nerevarine likes giving people nicknames and, well, Socucius Ergalla's name was asking for it._

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><p>In the Hlaalu capital of Vvardenfell, east of the Odai and north of the South Wall Cornerclub, there stood a small one-room house. The residents of Balmora usually stayed away from this house, as they knew it to be the den of a local drunkard and skooma addict and no one wanted any trouble, and this suited its tenant just fine. The interior of this hovel was even more of a shabby mess than its exterior, with sparse furniture and empty bottles strewn about the small bedroom as if in a fit—which, of course, is exactly what had happened. The only objects in good condition were the bed (though it stank of sweat, alcohol, and sugar smoke), the finely crafted skooma pipe tucked underneath it, and a copy of <em>The War of the First Council<em> which had somehow found itself on the floor. As for the inhabitant of this pigsty, he had seated himself rather heavily on his bed, causing the wooden frame to give a groan of complaint, with a piece of paper clutched in his trembling fingers. He was drunk, incredibly drunk, but still sober enough to read. At the moment, though, he wished he wasn't.

"What in the sixteen names of hell does he think he's doing?" he growled into the empty air. "Induct a known criminal into the Blades? A power-hungry mass murderer with no sense of loyalty or morals and nothing but hatred for the Empire?! Sure, someone like that is the _perfect_ candidate for the Emperor's spies and guards! There is nothing wrong with this plan at all." The man sighed and put his last bottle to his lips, found it empty, and hurled it at the wall in disgust, where it shattered. "At least have the decency to tell me what your plan is, Your Grace, rather than simply giving me a day's advance notice that a damned psychopath is going to be knocking on my door! Divines have mercy on us all." He willed his clumsy fingers into a fist, crumpling the coded message, and reached under the bed for his matchbox and pipe. With one last groan of frustration, Caius Cosades set fire to his damnable orders, then reached for some sugar and forgot the world for a while.

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><p>It was the skooma-trash assassin who woke her, though she could have sworn that female voice from her dream (vision?) had been the one to call her back to consciousness. Jibble or Jubjub or whatever he'd called himself actually asked if she was all right and what her name was. She was a little (okay, very) disappointed when he didn't show any signs of recognition—there'd been a time when her name inspired awe and fear amongst the lawless, back before she'd had the brilliant idea of crippling herself and the even more brilliant idea of getting arrested, back before she had to literally drag herself tooth and nail back to what could be loosely considered "health." To her annoyance, a guard appeared to drag her off before she could give Jubbly a reason to remember her.<p>

A Legion soldier waylaid her as she took her first step onto Vvardenfell, exposing the inadequacy of Imperial intelligence by telling her their records didn't even say where she'd been shipped in from. She snapped "Leyawiin" at him in her best growl and allowed him to herd her into the Census and Excise office. The trip to Vvardenfell had left her with no patience for her idiotic human overlords. Inside another Imperial questioned her about identification forms, which she took to fill out herself, swiping a limeware platter she'd spotted on a shelf as she did so (the guard yelled at her, but she managed to hold onto it anyway, so foolish was he). After she finished, Suckcockius Ergargle directed her to the next building over to hand off her papers, and gave her free reign to swipe just about everything of value in the other rooms. She stepped into the sunlight one dagger, one lockpick, some local drinks, some cash, and a random assortment of food and miscellaneous trinkets wealthier.

She breathed deep—and immediately regretted it. Seyda Neen was a rank, marshy port town, smelling equally of dead fish, disease, sulfur, and rotting wood. To her keen nose, the stench was as offensive as a knife in the chest. She resolved to leave Seyda Neen as soon as she possibly could.

After swiping an enchanted ring from a nearby barrel, she ducked into the less-putrid building where she'd been told to drop off her papers. Another Imperial in fancy Legion armor, whose name she decided was Sells Gravy, was waiting for her.

"First, let me take your identification papers," he said, so she handed them over like a nice little girl. He proceeded to read the précis aloud, as if she needed to know what she'd written. "For release, by Emperor Uriel Septim VII's decree, to the district of Vvardenfell in the province of Morrowind. Name: Abhidasha. Race: Khajiit. Class: Nightblade. Signed, Socucius Ergalla, Agent of the Seyda Neen Imperial Census and Excise, 16th of Last Seed 3E 427." He glanced back up at her (_really? Do you _really_ need to double-check that I'm a Khajiiti woman?_). "Thank you. Word of your arrival reached me only yesterday. I am Sellus Gravius. But my background is not important. Welcome to Morrowind."

Clearly she was dealing with an idiot. Still, the armor he was wearing told her it would be a bad idea to swipe the shelf full of silver behind him, so she stayed her hand and took her first truly free step into the Land of Slaves and Fucking Bat Things Everywhere.

Freedom still smelled like shit.

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><p>The Seyda Neen Welcoming Committee's dank bog-water aroma wasn't much of an improvement over the local scent. The smelly little elf was going on and on about someone taking his precious. Being determined to hold onto her only source of magical healing, she made no mention of having found it and brushed past him to one of the only important buildings in town: the tradehouse, also known as the best place to pick up gossip and odd jobs. The ponytailed Altmer behind the counter wasn't offering her very good prices, so she skipped him and went upstairs.<p>

A Nord in mismatched Legion chain and leathers approached her. "You look like you could use a friend, outlander. Perhaps I can be your friend." When Abhidasha reached for her dagger, he gave a booming laugh. "No, nothing like that, keep your fur on." He continued in hushed tones, which for a Nord is roughly equivalent to anyone else's normal indoor voice. "I'd like you to help me recover some gold."

The corner of her mouth quirked up in interest. "Continue."

"See, I had a bad run of luck playing Nine-holes, and lost a bit of money. Normally, I'd be fine. We can usually keep some gold in our pockets just from the money the locals pay us for," he paused, "protection." _Corruption in the Legion. Big surprise._ "But I know some of them are holding out on me, especially that fetcher Fargoth." _Ooh, a new expletive! Must be Morrowind slang. That's one for the list._ "He's come up light the past few weeks when I've shaken him down. I know he's stashing it somewhere. I'd like you to find Fargoth's hiding place."

"...You are sure it's not in his house? Pillows and mattresses are popular for hiding things."

"I already searched his whole house, so I know he's not hiding it there. I know the little fetcher's got one somewhere in town. Just not sure where yet. I'd like you to find out where he's stashing his gold. If you can, I'll give you a share of the wealth. Are you up for it?"

"I'll do it." He offered to shake her hand, but she ignored it and moved on. The Redguard woman behind the bar had caught her eye.


End file.
